Undisclosed Desires
by Brahtson
Summary: It's only a nightmare if you accept it as a nightmare. Otherwise, it's called a wet dream.


Arteries Nose; Warning! Fluffy gay homo. In Let's Talk, I said I would drown my sorrows by writing about hookers. This fic is the product. It makes no sense.

* * *

Roach has had weird dreams lately. Strange dreams, twisted dreams, erotic dreams. Ever since he caught MacTavish inviting a pretty woman into his room during downtime on the cold, chilly Christmas eve, and hearing the faint wails that followed, he's got it in his head that his Captain was ...attractive, in a disturbing way. Yes, he could definitely see why the females so easily part their legs for the Captain. He could also see how the Captain's right hand man seemed to be unnerved by these casual flings. Be careful when dealing with prostitutes, he said. Make sure you clean up, he said. Don't let it gnaw into your work, he said.

Roach speculated that this trusty Lieutenant might even be _jealous_.

That night, as he lay in bed, he wondered if he would get those dreams again. Hallucinations, he called them. Maybe...maybe he just had an unhealthy imagination.

* * *

MacTavish opened the door to a young British male.

"I ordered a woman."

"They said you wanted a male escort. Fine, I'll go back and tell them about this mix-up."

"..There's no need to."

After that night, he ended up tracing artillery shells on the small of the Englishman's back.

"What's your name?"

The young man smirked. "Forty pounds, and I'll tell you."

_Afterwards.._

"Apparently you've turned me gay, English."

The Scotsman turned and his Prussian blue eyes met the other man's own fair pair.

"Sure you're not a poof from the start?"

"Nay," MacTavish said, confident. "As promised, I've booked you five times. Now tell me your real name, Ghost."

"Shoot another forty pounds and I'll say."

* * *

The next evening, Roach was – politely – jolted from his blank pondering about nothing at all by a tap to his shoulder, coming from none other than his Lieutenant.

"You alright, mate? You've been out of it lately," he said.

Roach furtively peered over to MacTavish at the next table, who was eyeing him with concern in his eyes. The Sergeant turned back to his Lieutenant and nodded. Everything was fine, he said.

"If you need anyone to talk about it, we're always here," Ghost added, warmly patting Roach on the back.

* * *

"You've been avoiding me, Simon," MacTavish dangerously growled, his steely grip leaving scarlet marks on the other man's wrists.

The Englishman glared defiantly at his client. "It's not bloody difficult to understand this relationship, is it? You can't get jealous over me being with other men and women. It doesn't work that way."

"What if I tip you extra?"

"That's a different story, love."

_Afterwards.._

"I have a real job now. I start tomorrow," Ghost softly mumbled into the pillow.

The Scotsman turned to look at the man he'd come to become fond of, pain in his eyes. "That's...good. Good for you."

"I mean, it doesn't – if you still want to...you know. I wouldn't ask to pay. Not in that way."

* * *

MacTavish was rudely roused from his sleep by a persistent banging on his door. He checked the clock on the wall of his room. It was two in the morning. Nevertheless he got up and answered the door, only to be greeted by a disheveled and exhausted looking Roach weakly standing before him.

"Lad, you look like a ghost. What the hell happened?" he asked, stifling a yawn.

Roach stuttered and muttered something under his breath.

"Come sit down mate," MacTavish said, leading Roach to his bed. "You want to talk about it?"

"Sir, I just," Roach starts. "I've been getting these dreams, about you. And Ghost, too."

"What kind of dreams?"

Roach gulped, and his eyes looked away in shyness and shame. He bit down on his lower lip, and shivered from the cold.

"I haven't got all night."

"I.."

"If you're not going to answer me, mate, you'd have to _show _me."

With that he deftly pinned the smaller man down to the bed, leaned in and planted his teeth on Roach's neck. The Sergeant could barely control the sudden rush of air going into his lungs upon feeling the bites and kisses. It's warm, wet, and a little too forceful and wild for his tastes. Roach struggled to fight the man who had effectively locked his arms above his head, but he's utterly bewitched by the way the Captain touched him, by the way he breathed and hotly whispered into his ear, by the way he traced his index finger down his chest.

But oh, when he roughly pulled on Roach's hair, forcing him to tilt his head back, then kissing him behind the ears – the exhilaration and the excitement of it; he felt 99 fireworks going off all at once in his chest.

"Tell me about these dreams of yours, Roach."

* * *

"I think you've simply just realised how jealous you are of Ghost, since he's always with me," MacTavish concluded, sitting on the side of his bed in nothing but boxers. He held up a lighter to the cigarette between his lips.

He looked down to the handsome figure still lying on his bed. The young man was on his back, barely awake and using an arm to shield his sleepy eyes from the intrusive sunlight seeping through the window's thin curtains. The only thing that clothed him was a warm blanket that went up to his waist, for his shirt and shorts were messily strewn across the floor.

"Still jealous, mate?"

Roach shook his head.

"Seems like you didn't know you're a fruit...I didn't either."

Roach turned to him and smiled a small, wistful smile. He gently touched the scratches, claw and bite marks on his shoulders. It didn't hurt, not really.

"If I have more dreams like that.."

MacTavish put his thumb on the man's lips.

"You're welcome to stay."

* * *

Artuhor's Node; I was listening to Nena and Muse while I typed this. It's literally the most intimate thing I've written in my life. I hope you enjoyed this horrible, horrible piece of crud. Remember, I want your reviews. Let me know if you think I should never attempt anything that could blind your eyes, ever again. I probably will.


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